


Stimuli

by babydragon7



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Humor, M/M, Slash, tiny textual spoilers for season 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-16
Updated: 2012-03-16
Packaged: 2017-11-02 01:14:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/363384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babydragon7/pseuds/babydragon7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This all derives from a certain line in "The Hounds of Baskerville".</p><p>"John was not at all surprised that Sherlock turned out to be the same in bed as he was out of it: rude, demanding and inconsiderate. He was all “I need some. Get me some.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stimuli

stim•u•lus

n., pl., -li (-lī').

1\. Something causing or regarded as causing a response.

2\. An agent, action, or condition that elicits or accelerates a physiological or psychological activity or response.

3\. Something that incites or rouses to action; an incentive: "Works which were in themselves poor have often proved a stimulus to the imagination" (W.H. Auden).

 

Sherlock had tried many things. And found some more stimulating then the others. Alcohol for instance deluded his senses, so was of no use whatsoever in his line of work. Drugs were illegal and were likely to land the drug squad WITH Anderson on his doorstep. There was also a pack of smoke stashed somewhere in the flat, but finding them while easy would make John disappointed and pouty (John did pout too, although everyone was dead sure it was Sherlock’s perogative), so to be resorted to later rather than earlier. And patches just were not enough anymore.

But Sherlock needed stimulus. He knew the world originated from Latin and meant some kind of stick cattle was hit with to keep going. Especially when there were no case, but during the case too, he needed to give his brilliant mind an occasional kick in the… the great detective was not good with metaphors. 

So again Sherlock had tried many things. And then he discovered sex. With John Watson of all people. This was both unsurprising and convenient. To Sherlock that is. But not to John, who found himself suddenly and not quite willingly on the other end of the said arrangement.

It all had started during a stake out, when they had to hide in some dark corner, and Sherlock was pressing and pressing himself to John from behind, until he pressed back and was surprised to hear a hushed “Oh.” After that the friction had suddenly escalated, but John was a couple of minutes non-the-wiser and also on the look-out for some criminals they were watching. So it took him some time to realize, Sherlock was humping his back. John would probably put it to stop once and for all, but in that very moment some bad guys had appeared, and Sherlock and John gave chase. Having his adrenaline fix, John decided to forget about any weirdness, but next day his bed was suddenly “sherlocked” – occupied by the one and only consulting detective. Naked and somewhat aroused. 

“John”, – he said in his best “I promise not to put dead mice in your bed anymore” voice, – “It came to my attention that I’m in a great use of your unique expertise in the field I find myself of yet inexperienced.”

And John… well. He obliged. He found out for some time that his sex life with other people was a thing of the past, almost a long-gone memory. And solitary sex was like playing hide-and-seek by oneself, in short pretty boring. So John was available. And he cared for Sherlock. And maybe, just maybe he expected that good time would be had by all or some such nonsense.

On the other hand John was not at all surprised that Sherlock turned out to be the same in bed as he was out of it: rude, demanding and inconsiderate. He was all “I need some. Get me some.” As it went John found himself on his knees or landing a hand so to speak at most inconvenient of times. And not always on the bed. Sometimes when Sherlock needed a clear head or a new perspective on facts, he would drag John to some room or the gents or just in some secluded corner and well… It was all a bit humiliating, as Sherlock once had left during the oral intercourse, with John on giving end, struck by a brilliant idea.

Sherlock was certainly happy. Lestrade had even asked John if he was using again. “Nothing illegal,” John said grumpily and if Lestrade had more questions he wisely refrained.

But enough was enough, so after the three weeks John had finally reached his limit. And when Sherlock approached him with “John, I can’t figure out a murder weapon”, the good doctor rose from his chair and said “No way, Sherlock”.

“I’m done. If you need some stimulation, go buy yourself a box of Belgian chocolates, I heard they were pretty good for brain work. If not – go pick someone up at a bar. Buy an anatomically correct doll. Anything that does not include me. I’m all in for being your doctor and a friend and a gun and what not, but not a sex-aid. Sex is about reciprocating, Sherlock. About making the other person feel good, not just getting a rush of pheromones or in your case a clear head.”

And John took his jacket and went out of the flat, leaving a very baffled and somewhat hurt Sherlock behind. John went to Regent’s park, sat on some bench dedicated to “My beloved husband”, watched people pass by and even attempted flirting with a duck, which rejected him when it realized John had no bread-crumbs.

After some time it was however time to head back home and face the music (if Sherlock was playing). But Sherlock was not playing; he cornered John as soon as he was able to put his jacket away and murmured: “I’m sorry, John. I don’t want any chocolates or a doll. But this is really not my area. And you should have told me all that weeks ago. (“I really am an idiot,” John decided) But I did some research (“The Wiki probably,” John thought warily) and I would very much like to reciprocate. Just direct me, please, because I want to make you feel as good as you make me think.”

Well, all well that comes well. And Sherlock turned out to be a quick study and a clever mouth.

“This is so nice,” he rumbled. ‘Who else would manage to talk and give a blow-job simultaneously,’ John wondered. “Who would have thought that to keep your arousal unabated, to keep you on the edge, would be so very stimulating. Speaking of the edge, John, I think I have figured out the murder-weapon!”

“Don’t even think about it, before you finish me off”, John warned through moans and gritted teeth.

Sherlock did finish him. And if in the same time he was texting single handedly to Lestrade, John chose not to notice.

**Author's Note:**

> My friend mentioned that if John would open a sex-aid cabinet the line there would be popular night-club worthy.
> 
>  
> 
> By the way. Dislaimer: Not mine, the characters. Someone else's.
> 
> Not beta-ed, so if you met mistakes, rat them out to me!


End file.
